Trinity
by Yami no Ichigo
Summary: Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this wasn’t as good as an idea as he first thought, and maybe that brought shivers up his spine. Maybe he was going insane. But he never felt happier in his whole entire life." 2x1x5


Trinity  
  
By: Yami no Ichigo  
  
R, cursing, deaths, blasphemy, lime, and maybe ice cream if I feel like it. Please try to read the dates, it's very important, or try and make a timeline, I'm not going to do everything for you. 2x1x5  
  
Disclaimer: Yami does not own Gundam Wing, she doesn't want to, she doesn't make any money from this either. Gundam Wing is owned by a lot of other people who Yami no Ichigo has never personally heard of.  
  
AN: Writing in a Duo-esque swaggering, poet priest gone dreadfully, angstily, dramatic scenes with cherry blossoms from out of nowhere wrong, prose is so hard for me, he's nothing like my floofy, uber shiny lyrical fairy tale crap. All along this thing I had to think "Hell's Angel's" and "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" and Johnny Depp in Once Upon a Time in Mexico and possibly in Benny and Joon.  
  
My Duo feels like grainy beach sand on a too hot summer day, looks smooth, feels rough, he curses a lot because it annoys Hiiro and tempts the gods, the fates, the Jim Morrison Jesus' on their fucking Popsicle sticks, he flirts with Wufei because he likes the throbbing vein in his forehead and the wiggle back and away thing that he does, and he gives his three cents worth of psychology when he feels like kicking back and blowing smoke up at the stars, he smokes black cigarettes at these times, but only if Wufei lends him some. My Hiiro is a melting ice cream sundae on a winter's night, he stays quiet with watchful eyes because he doesn't really trust Duo, even though he sleeps with him and his beef with Wufei is still quiet fresh, he slams doors and wears tank tops in the winter because he likes seeing Wufei's disapproval anger/lust and Duo's slightly lopsided smirk, and he really likes Coldplay and Dashboard Confessional, he's a mischievious little brat, but only because he's the perfect soldier. My Wufei is an engagement ring left on the bench of a city park in fall, beautiful, cold, and lonely, he's a heavy smoker, his frigging sweatbands are replaced by leather bondage training cuffs, and he wears his hair down and buys an English brand of colorful cigarettes. He gives Duo the black ones when he's feeling charitable and makes the best damn omelets on this side of the universe. He thinks maybe this is love, and then drowns that thought out with tequila and lime and a nice good string of curses, he once stole Hiiro's shorts and burned them (secretly, everyone, don't lie to me, I love you too much, has wanted to do that.)  
  
Now, read the fic, because you want to.  
  
= = = =  
  
1:23 PM, Current Location Unknown, Saturday June 12,  
  
Maybe it was the heat.  
  
Maybe it was driving with Wufei sleeping in the backseat of the car—feet perched, elegantly arched, on the armrest of the door, head tilted, mouth moist, eyes closed, hair refusing to curl but curving around his soft face filled with angles—and with Hiiro staring out into the open road, not moving, he didn't even look like he was breathing, cold and hot like the middle of the dessert in the evening.  
  
He spared a glance at them, Wufei had turned to the side, snuggling the backrest, and Hiiro still hasn't moved. Maybe not.  
  
Duo wrapped a hand around a bottle of water he just ripped out of the cooler in the back; he screwed the top off with his teeth and spit the cap out. Hiiro was looking at him from the corner of his eye for a second and then away, a Hiiro style shrug and again Duo attributed the heat for the slight flush in his body.  
  
Maybe this wasn't as good as an idea as he first thought, and maybe that brought shivers up his spine.  
  
Summer shone down on them, burning and melting, and already Duo's face was sprinkled in freckles and sun burn, though Wufei already warned him to bring and wear sunscreen. The little red Preventers' standard-issue SUV ran across the long strips of asphalt and tar and the little whispers of adventure murmured their approval into Duo's ears. He almost shivered except that it was too warm.  
  
"Where are we going?" the man... the boy... beside him murmured, irate, as if the silence bothered him, as if he couldn't handle the unexpectedly quiet Duo, as if he couldn't handle any less or any more of the Duo he had come to know. Duo suppressed a smirk and a look at the rear-view mirror.  
  
Duo enjoyed the feeling of being able to out-smirk Hiiro at 1:25 in the afternoon. He heard a mewl from the back seat and saw Wufei stir in the rear-view mirror.  
  
Maybe he was going insane.  
  
But he never felt happier in his whole entire life.  
  
= = = =  
  
12:57 AM, Building C, United Metal Industries, San Francisco, CA; Monday March 6  
  
The mission was simple, a reconnaissance, get in, scope things out, maybe steal info, and get the hell out of there before someone notices you're not a regular pencil pushing anal retentive prick.  
  
United Metal was supposedly, no one could connect them to it, developing illegal Mobile suits and selling them off to the current civil war in the Indo China of L2. They were also possibly responsible for the coup d'eta on good ol L3. United Metal did everything from sell drugs to four year olds, to make cars and ammunition, and they possibly manufacture sex toys too.  
  
Not quite like Oz, not quite Mariemeia, but a whole a lot more fun that's for sure, they have cool things.  
  
He was partnered up with Wufei, who seemed pissier than usual and definitely in need of a good fuck. But, maybe, that thought just came to life because Wufei's hair tie had floated away in space, not literally, and his hair was framing his face in none-too-feminine wisps. The poor guy looked like he stepped out of a Chinese Fairytale, all bronze skin and moist shimmer lips, pink cheeks, rumpled clothing and cute little black slippers. Duo expected wings to shudder and explode out from his back, they weren't floofy angel wings by any chance, or gay pride parade butterfly wings, he'd expect them to be green scaled bat wings, with reds, yellows and oranges, and a blue touching the edges.  
  
He'd expect him to be a dragon.  
  
Duo quietly stepped to the side, motioning for Wufei to slide in next to him, and surprisingly he did, with out yelling or cursing, it could be that they actually needed to be quiet, or it could be that Wufei learned to accept his manliness and follow directions, no questions asked.  
  
Fuckwit. Wufei mouthed.  
  
Or not.  
  
He grabbed a leather cuffed wrist and tugged.  
  
"Listen..." he whispered, pulling Wufei closer, he nuzzled his ear. "See that little box over there?" He motioned his head over to a door with a room on the far side of the hall that they expected to be anything but little.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You know what that is."  
  
"You idiot, of course I do!"  
  
"I want you to destroy it."  
  
"Shit..."  
  
"Can you?"  
  
"Of course I can."  
  
"Bring your bombs?" He let his hand rest on Wufei's waist, the fey-looking child wiggled. Yes, he fucking wiggled. Holy bleeding NFL mascots.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good boy." He licked Wufei's ear, the boy, because he was still too short and still too beautiful, shuddered, maybe in disgust. "Because I really didn't want to waste the one I have. I'll give you till 0100 hours?"  
  
"In three minutes?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"You're insane, Duo, you better not die." He had a gruff, heavy lidded voice, and Duo would have let out a moan if he weren't careful.  
  
"Sweetheart didn't know you cared about me." Wufei pushed him off and ran the opposite direction, towards the room where the generators would be. The braided one spared him a smirk before running off.  
  
His heart sped happily.  
  
= = = =  
  
6:00 am, Preventers' Living Quarters, San Francisco, RM 238, March 6  
  
The fucktard was listening to Coldplay on a red CD player that rested on his chest, SONY in silver shining blindingly in the radioactively bright florescent lights. He was staring at him with an expression akin to an evil leprechaun who just fingered a nun and ate her liver all the while sitting on a huge frigging pile of gold.  
  
Or a cat who just caught a mouse, but honestly, that one was a boring cliché.  
  
"You're back."  
  
"Thanks for stating the obvious, fucktard." Duo snarked, he wrestled a can of Red Bull from the fridge, dodging leftover lasagna from the last time Trowa visited, yesterday, good cook, and from Quatre's drunken kiss and tell, good fuck as well, and a ready made salad. There was still some parmesan cheese left too. Hmm.  
  
"Nice bruises." Chatty today, eh? Can't be that time of the month, the skull fuck was a frigging robot and from last he checked Hii-chan was a man. He snerked.  
  
"Fuck off. I've had a hard night, a hard day too." His uniform was splattered with mud, blood and other things he'd rather not think about, he lost a shoe on the way home, and his shirt was tattered and torn, his hair felt and looked like a single filthy dreadlock and he desperately wanted to jump into the shower, fuck Hiiro through the roof and sleep for a month. Not necessarily in that order.  
  
He heard Hiiro stand up, he felt the rough hand on his wrist, he saw bushy brown hair, he tasted the tangy sweet cold flavor of Hiiro's mouth, he smelt that familiar smell of gunpowder and sweetly fragrant rosemary mint shampoo and he whispered his name into those cold soft hard hot lips.  
  
"How is he?"  
  
"He's fucking fabulous," clothes started disappearing, where was his Red Bull? Shudder blink mewl. Ah... yes, Hiiro was holding it ransom, when did that happen? "In the god damned Hospital wing, prolly gonna stay there for a week."  
  
Kiss, suck, the hiss of a opening can of carbonated happy, and the taste of something sweet and biting on Hiiro's satin tongue.  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
Duo pushed the idiot away and into the now closed fridge, he slipped his tar stained hands into Hiiro's shirt, he bit at a pink-brown nipple, Hiiro arched his neck and moaned.  
  
"I know."  
  
Hiiro smirked and Duo bit at his pectorals.  
  
"Oh... fucking... Buddha..." Duo tasted at Hiiro's skin, and believe it or not the guy had an oriental flavor, a bit like green tea spiked with bourbon and gun powder. He wasn't quite sure how that would really taste like, all mixed together like that, but Hiiro tasted wonderful, and maybe stranger things have happen.  
  
Hiiro was built like he was drawn, the straight line of the valley of his pectorals, the rippling curves of his abs, the 65 degree angle of his hip bone that poked out slightly, sexily, he was measured and sculpted and molded into this perfect human being, thirty years from now, his body might still be perfectly shaped, like a god, like a hardcore heavy metal angel, like fucking David, eternally beautiful.  
  
When Duo first took him it was like being with a statue come to life, the brunette's muscles were so tense and tight and god it felt like gundanium alloy wrapped in warm, hot, fucking hot, silk. And the man underneath him just stared; with those silvery blue eyes that murmured secrets teasingly, just low enough that you can't hear, burning passageways into his very bleeding soul.  
  
It was getting damned to a pagan Heaven; it was living in the Elysian Fields of Hades while burning in Christian Hell.  
  
Hiiro didn't mind that Duo was dirty, that he had pressed Wufei up against a wall, a tree, a car door, just like this, bit into the tender spot on his neck just like this, and suckled the salty sweet sweat from his skin just like this. And in fact, when Hiiro thought he wasn't looking, or coherent enough to breathe much less think, Duo might even say that the tight assed little whore even liked it.  
  
Ol' blue eyes talked while they fucked, of course he did, it was the only time he ever did. Hiiro would murmur curses, soft ones, small ones, damning, burning, and fucking adorable ones. He'd gasp, and whimper, not quite scream, but make high pitched sounds just loud enough, just right enough to annoy the neighbors and their stupid little yappy poodle dog.  
  
Hiiro grabbed at an already ruined shirt and tugged hard, tearing it down the seams and if that wasn't just the cutest little most used allegory in the god damned book, but that was just how his soul sounded when Hiiro grabbed him by the neck, squeezed and with his hot/cold, fresh/rotting, everything, fucking everything, every god hating/loving/damning thing to ever crawl out of hell and heaven, mouth, pressing into his, invading him, dividing him, conquering him.  
  
He felt like he was spilling his soul, his emotions, his anger, his him.  
  
He felt like he was walking on hot coals, sleeping under the sun, watching porn on a Hotel TV and eating day old popcorn in a carnival.  
  
He felt more then knew that this was wrong, but it was right because wrong was the only thing they could do without hurting anything or anyone.  
  
Because God lived when Hiiro kissed him, took him, engulfed him, when Duo kissed him, took him, engulfed him.  
  
Shinegami cried tears of crystalline tar when he felt the muscles moving underneath that silken skin and he was too numb to feel the guilt of being the only one who survived.  
  
This was the only way he could get close to god, the only prayer he knew Our Bastard in Heaven understood.  
  
Because this was the only one he believed, the only one he understood. The only one Duo learned to pray everyday.  
  
====  
  
Dedication: For my lovely SpeedDemon who thought me the art of conversational story telling for the sake of kiss and tell gossip, for my darling NeoDiscord who really should expect whelk sharing from me and who let me into her house for three whole days and two whole nights of impassioned cooking, EmeraldHorse88 whose blondness I have come to accept unconditionally, fine she makes really good oat meal... and she bothered to do the math cause I was too lazy, and lastly for my totally awesome cool mother who said "Get some backbone young lady, you're not a child anymore" while she tossed a bottle of beer at me before she asked if I knew how to play tennis, she wasn't drunk, she was intuitive.  
  
Would you like Fries with that?  
  
PS: For those expecting me to write more of Eyes like Yours... uh... I'll do that later, this is so much more interesting! runs away 


End file.
